


Gifts to Death

by squidballsinc



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Assassin AU, Death, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, The Author Regrets Nothing, this was meant to be a drabble, unsure if this needs warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidballsinc/pseuds/squidballsinc
Summary: A look at the relationship between an assassin and Death, and love that may be growing in between.Aka. The Assassin!Analogical AU I had sitting in my google docs for months until I decided to write it.
Relationships: (Minor) Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Gifts to Death

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so I'm not entirely sure where I was going with this but I hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> Also, I used Zalgo Text: T̷h̵i̴s̵ for some of the text, so I recommend that you keep a Zalgo Text generator open.
> 
> __  
> **TW: Death, Minor Character Death, Blood**  
> 

56

That was the number his career so far was built upon.

56 jobs.

56 targets assigned.

56 targets dealt with.

Virgil was an assassin.

**_And his career was built upon the lives of 56 men_ **.

\- - - - - -

Virgil opened the window silently, as always, and snuck into the house.

He made it a point to leave no trace. That was the art of his trade. No witnesses, no victims. In and out, kill the target.

Right now he was after the ex lover of one of his kingdom’s Dukes.

The woman had grown obsessed with the hope of getting the man back. She had begged, pleaded, and eventually, stalked.

The Duke in question was charming. Virgil had heard about him before while discussing jobs with clients higher up. The Duke could get anyone, peasants and travellers, countesses and princesses. He had connections everywhere, and that made him dangerous.

So when Virgil was given a job from him, he couldn’t refuse.

He approached the prone figure laying and bed, and silently, swiftly sliced her neck. Making sure to put her out of her misery quickly.

He then went over to the desk in the corner of her room and picked up an empty paper and started writing out a brief letter.

~

_Dear Death,_

_Today I send to you the soul of one Caroline Beuterc._

_She was once the daughter of a famous merchant, who has thus been lost to bankruptcy._

_I was sent to kill her by Duke Berningham._

_He stated that while with her she became with child, but ended up losing it to miscarrage._

_Since then the Duke claims that she has been constantly following him._

_Whether or not this is true I cannot say._

_I leave her spirit in your skilled hands._

_Sincerely,_

_-V_

_~_

He blew on the ink to make sure it was dry, before folding it into the shape of a paper plane.

Virgil took one last chance to make sure the coast was clear. All the lights were off beforehand so it was safe to assume that no one else was home.

No witnesses, no victims.

He walked back over to her body and carefully dipped the tip of the paper airplane into her bleeding neck.

“May your soul find peace. May your travel stay true.” Virgil murmured.

The plane in his hands, small and tipped with blood, began to glow a faint dark purple. He held it tenderly in his hands and walked toward the window, and gently let the plane fly out into the night. He watched it go for a moment, the way he always does, wondering where it goes. Before hopping out the window himself, and disappearing the same way he came, unnoticed by those around him.

**_Unnoticed to everyone but the bruised, scarred boy hidden in the closet. The one who witnessed his 57th kill_ **.

\- - - - - -

“Your father was a great man.” His mother used to say, “Powerful as a tornado, but gone as fast as the wind. I’m sure that if he were here, he would be terribly proud.”

Virgil held her hand as they fell asleep by the dying fire, their empty stomachs growling in their desperation for food.

After all, a widow couldn’t find work anywhere else other than in the slums.

His mother couldn’t find decent work with all the rumors surrounding their family.

And when they went out into the streets, heads hung downward, buying what little they could afford, they pretended not to hear the gossip.

The gossip that his father might be alive.

**_The gossip that his mother used to be a maid for the great King of the Winds_ **.

\- - - - - -

War had ravaged the land for the last 5 years, entrapping everyone’s lives in constant pain and paranoia.

Virgil had enlisted in the army after leaving his old home. The place his mother had died.

He had been fighting on the front lines, where else would a disposable peasant be stationed?

It was on that day, all those years ago, when he had first used his powers.

Carmilla, his fellow soldier. The one friend he had made since he had joined the army, had been struck down right in front of him. While he was hiding behind some rubble like a coward.

He waited for the enemy to leave before approaching Carmilla, her wounds too fatal to be healed.

And as Carmilla looked back at him, pain enveloping her being, he made his choice.

With one swift slice, she was gone.

He sobbed, clutching her rapidly chilling body as he mourned her life. That’s when he felt something tickle against his wrist.

He looked down to see that something had fallen out of her pocket. A four-leaf clover bookmark. She had told him the story behind it once, her father had come back from overseas when she was 8. They had stayed in the fields for hours before they had found the long sought out clover. That was the last day she had ever spent with him. It was the one thing she could never leave behind.

So he picked it up gently, distraught at the sight of her blood covering most of it.

He held it up against his chest and with his tired, tired voice he murmured the prayer his mother had taught him as a child;

_“May your soul find peace._

_May your travel stay true.”_

What he hadn’t expected to come from that was movement.

He looked down to see the bookmark shaking like a leaf, and glowing faintly, before a strong breeze came and blew it away.

And somehow, he knew she had found peace.

That day he made his choice.

_‘If there are people like this out there.’ He thought, ‘People who are slated to die. Then I will show them mercy.’_

**_‘I will put them out of their misery, and I will help them find peace.’_ **

\- - - - - - -

It was a seemingly normal day when Logan had received his first gift.

A bloody bookmark, bearing a clover, had flown in through his window.

He had grabbed it out of the air and stared at it. Perplexed on how it could have possibly gotten there. He must have spent at least an hour simply staring at it before one of his servants walked in.

“OoooOOooo~ It seems you’ve got some sort of secret admirer there Lo~” Remus, one of the two mortals he had chosen to become his servants, said.

  
  
  


"̸̧̢̢̛̲͚͓͕̩̰̼̙͉̺̪̜̰̫̄̃̊̃̿̑͐̏͘͝W̸̡̡̝̲̰̖̠̜̮̝̜̯̼͖̬̊̎̂̍̋́̇̿̍͊̀̽̈͋̉͛̃͊̏̀̆̓͒̕͠ͅh̶̡̧̡̧̦̖̪͈͖͇̟̦̬̯̙͉̮̺͕̹̊͋̒̔̓̕ͅã̴̮̥̮͐̇̈̓̃͂͋̃͊͌̔̈͌̕̚͘͝t̸̨̧̛͚͔̞̘̰͎̘͉̞̙̲͉̮̯͎̳̒͌̓͂̐͌͋͐͊͐̐͆̉͐̿͋̾͐͆̈́̚͜͝͝?̴̨̡̨̛͚̯̻̼͔͎̣̪̘͉̺͕͎͇̬͉͚̯̀̐̎̿͌̇͐̇͐̇͐̈́̂̂̓̂͗̕̕̕̕͜͜ͅͅ"̴̧̭̝͇̱̝̣̜̩̫̦̦̻͖̗̺̭̘̭̺́͌͒̐̐̈́͜ͅ

  
  
  


“Yeah! Someone sent you a present, so that must mean they’re your admirer.”

  
  
  
  


"̵̨͎͖̟̣͙̱̲̣̦͍̯̺̮̹̅̀̍Į̷̧̧̡̛͚̻̼̺̪̱̝̥͈͕̠̣̣̺̭̟̮̠̄̈̊̈͊͗̔̈̽̐̋̑͜͝ ̶̢̛͈̩͖̦̭͎̮̥̮̥̗̣̹͎̭͇̣͍̘̯̟̤͓̗̎̔̆̑̌̇̈́͗͊͑̽͒͗̍̌͐̿̌͂̓̍̈́̚͝͝ḑ̵͓͓̆͌͗̐̃̓̀̊͌̂̑̀̅͐̈́̎̚͝ơ̴̛̩̗̭̙̞͇͖̣̦͖͊̿̾͒͋͐̈͑̈́̆̑̓͑͊̈̓͋́̎̆̿̑̕͜ų̵̡̧̢̨̛̲̮̹̰̭̳͔̞̥̜̜̖̞͍͙̞̫̮̩̼̭̯̪̽̈́̈b̸̲̖̊̆̈́̽̓͘t̶͙͙̱̘͛̅̔̃̏̈́̾̅̈́͐̂̐̍̆͋͑̐͋͂̈́̚̚ ̷̨͙̳̼̍̉̊͗̿̌̉͂͛́̉͐͌̎͊̐͐̎̆̊̑̅̍̚͠t̶̳͙̠̗̍̔̍̈́̀̽̌̿̃̌͆̄̋́̒̂̕̕h̶̢̬͖̘̣͙͉͓͍͕͔̖̥̫̘͍̞͙̭̋͆̽͛̂̂͒̔͘͝͠a̷̧̡̢̧̧̢̛̟͖̱̼̖̣̗͉̻̯̳̫͎̜͇̬̱͚̩̺͖̎̇͌̆̈́̃͒̍̄̓́̕̕̚ͅt̶̢̗̩̮͇̳̘̱̻̰͉̹͖̤̱͇̣̣͚̙̼́̈̎̊̏͛͒̌͋̍̈́͊͘͠͠͝ͅ.̶̧̨̛̫̜̯̮̭̩̭̤̰̘͔̼̗̜̙̹͖̖͋̏͒̅͐̈̄̀͘̕"̸̛̦̬̦̟̟̤̏̈́̍͋̑͊̌͐̇̒̎͑̽̊̿̉̑͠͝͠ Logan rebutted.

  
  
  


But he stopped, pondering.

  
  
  
  


"̵̨̛̻͙͈͈̘̠͈͍̬͙̫͚̞̽͂̽̈̅̽͊̓͊͐́̈̚͘͜͜ͅÅ̸̪̖̜̠̦͓͈̪͙̜̟̝̱͋͜͝ͅͅͅl̴̰̓̒̃̈̈͋͊̌̄̎̕͘͝͝ͅt̶̡̘̭̘͚̩͓͚̖̦͌̓h̵̡͕̯̰̦̯̯͈̐̎̒̒̒̃̊́͗̏̋̚͘ǫ̵̨̛̛̼̠̥̦͎̥̠͕̱̞̤̥̝͚͙͓͍̓̐͐̑̅̂̆̌̀̇͌͊̇͗͐͝͝ư̴̧̨̡͖̭̗̻̫̻̜͈̬̫̬͎̼̳̠̪̬͉͓̱̫̩̾̄̉̑̌̀̓͆̓̚̚͜g̸̡̢̛̥̹̬̫̬̼̘̻̯͈͎̞̱͍̮̥̦̬̮̥͉̫̙̖͔̱̰̽̆͂̈́̿̃͐̏̇̀͝ḧ̸̨̨̧̡̨̳̥̼̙̣̙͇̦̮͎̬̟̠́̌͗̆͗̏̌͐͒̃̕͠ͅ,̴̧̡̛̛͎͕̜͓̪̣̰̪̅̉͂̓̈̇̃̉͛̈́̅͜͠ͅ ̶̨͍̱̼͙̰̳̭͎̥̭̝͖̟̰̰̗̫̯̙̲͔̥̙̹̙̑͗̈́̄̂̓̓͗͂̈́͂̕̚͘ͅt̸̨̛̥̻̺͇͉̱̩͙̖͇̹̹͎͆̃͆̈́͆̊͊̅͌̐̈́̈́̈́͊͆̄̊̔͋͋̈́̓̇̌͐̕ͅḩ̶̡̧̳̝̙̭͔̱̙̥̰̗̥̳̜̱̱̦̻͔͍͔̦̌͗̈́̒̎̐̈́̊͌̋̊̈́̅͋̚͝͠͝í̴̢͖̭̙̜̟̪̬̻͈͌̉̏̈́̔͒̾̇̽̾̇͒͘̕̚͝͝͝s̴̛͔̼̠̙͙͚̖̣̗̠̞̺͔͓̜̟̫̻̞͇͉̺̦̞̱̣͍͍̼̐͛́̆̀͑̓̂͋̿̔̓̓̽̾̏̓͊͐͋̈͊̈̽͂̕ ̸̧͇̣̙̰̉̃̈̈́͊̓̾́̊̎̋̔i̷̡̛̛̫͎̹̭͓͉̲͓̠͈̗̻̔̄̓̅̾̇̔̉͌̈́͆̋͊͝͝ŝ̶̢͈̳̗̼̑͐̊̔̈́̍̾̎͋͐͑ͅ ̸̨̧̢̛̙̳̥̻͇̬̟̜͎̮͓͍̻̳͍̫̤̄̉͋̀̌͠͝t̷̢̛̼̬̰̓͋̒͊͊͒͌̃̈̅̍͗͗̎̊̑͆̌́̇̍̇͘̕͝͝ḧ̶̠̓̏̈́̿̔̈́͐̃͋̏̋e̵̫̳͉̮̜̟͆͛̒͆̏͆̕ ̷̖͓͉͉̼̩͉̱͍̳̬͊̆̽̒͊̍͊͒̾̀̍̓̃͒̾̃̚͘̚̚ͅm̵̛̛̘͇̲̟̗̦͐̽̽̏̑̓̀̈́̔̒̕͠ͅŏ̸̭̻̍͆͌̄͒͌͒̅̃̒͗͒̽̽̇̂͘̚͘͠s̸̛̠͉̮̞̰̙̲͙̰̻̯̗͈͇̀̽̓͐͊̈́̕͝͝͝t̸̨̬̗̞͖̮̬̜͓̪̪̹̳̬̩͙̝͈͝ ̶͎̖͎̣͌̃̅̓̋ï̶̧̨͍̦̝̙̪̞̟͕͎̭͚̣̜̮̗̘͓̹̰̤̤̳̼̾̈́̇͑̉̔̏̔̿͆̐̈̈̀̾̚͜ͅṇ̸̪̼̃̾́ṯ̶̪̩͎̟͋̉̇̅̑͐̈́̾̽̂͑̅̉̒e̵̡͉̼̳̟̣̦̮̗̩̯̺͖̠̠̖͚̝̦̘͎͎̙̩̮͖̬̲̒̓̾̑͊̍r̵̪̖̲̯̲̠̳̮̤͍̃̈́̑͛̈́͆̊̓͌̐̃̋̐͂̔͋̆͑̕͠͠ͅę̸̢̢̮̯̫͕̱̠̪͈̞̮͈̯̤̞̘͈̩̳͎̗͕̗̎̑͌̑̇͗́̆̇̇̉͋͛́̉̀̋̈́͐̊̈̕͘̚̚͘͠ͅs̸̛͔͔̺̱̙̀̂̐̔̒͊͛̃͛͌́͋̽̈́̽̕͠ṭ̷͕̇̌̓̒̇͌̑͂̅͂̅͑̈́͒̿͆̎͘͝͝i̴̧͕̬̜͎͚̼͓̫̤͉̥̗͚͈͖͕̤͉͇͇̺̝̮͉̫̍́͊̉͋͜ͅn̷̢̧̫̙͔̯̠̯͍͈̞̼̠̤̣̘͉͎͈̭̭̭̙̲̤̎̍̊̑͜g̸̡̢̡͙̟̠̝̘̬̣̫̙͔̀͗̇̈̓͊̀͝ͅ ̶͈̪͂̐̿͂͂́̊̏͂̎̿̍̃́̊̑̕ţ̸̛̠̫̫͚͔̝͈̩̘̬̠̲͚̟̏̎̎̎͂̄̏̒̊̃̇̒͐̈́̀̂̏̾͗̒̽́̕͝͝͝h̵̢̨̡͕̣̮̞̦̥̰̼͖̩̰̣̙̲̪̹̻̦͛̋͊̿͜͝ͅi̶̧̨̢͖̜̱͖͈̦͓̰̠̯̟̲͔͍̪͖̞̲͓̼̝̤̜͈͆͋̋̈́͌̀̆͆̒̐̈́̉̊̍̌͑ͅͅn̴̨̢̢̤̜̞̭͍̺̱̳̺̻̩̬͇̼͙̙̦̠̼̈́̐̏̂͜ͅg̸̢͈̹̺͂̽̋͗͐̓̆̓̏͋̐̔̽̏́͐̇͆̈́͌̆̐͌̀̚͘͝͠͝ ̷̨̢̰̹̼͍̥̝͙͔̥͈̝͎͕͂͊͗̐̓̈́͋͂̓͊̂̒̌̽̒̎̔͛̓̅̓̕͘͠͠ͅt̷̡̧̢̞̤̗̩̭̯͉̱̳̠̼̺̖̙͕̫̹̼̲̥͌̌̋͜o̶̩̺̱͓͉͕͍̦͍̘͓͉͉̹̗̦̮͖̬̅̔͌ ̴̢̢̧̢̧̧̛̱͖̖̜̣̮̼̘̼̲̮͈̖̳̙̤̬̬͇͕̰͗͊̓̍̈̿͛̅̑͆̚̚͜͠h̶̛͖̘̩̗̙̙̝͍̾̐̿̅͊͂͊̿͌̏̄̎̾̏̊̈̎̀̓̄̌̕̚͘ͅä̸̧̖͖̙͎̬̝̦̞̬̣́̔̍̓̂̓̓́̅̍̈͜͝͝v̵̡̯̥̰͎̹̲͉̤̱̟̦̥̣̱̼̹̦͕̜͋̒̊͌͆̈̚̕͝e̸̢̡̛͇͙͓̻̫̹͕̟̩̱͔̝͉̜̬̤̫͋͐̅̾̔̀͂͆̄͊̆̆͝ͅ ̸̢̲͉̘̰̬̣̜͍̬̘͉̭̪̱̖̯̎̂̃͂̂͝͝͝͝ͅh̴̤͙̰͖̺͇́͐̈̿ȧ̷̡̨̡̡̛̖̟̭̗̱̗͍̱̹͇̟̙͚̮̗͚̠̬̬̱͚̞̳̮̑̄͂̒͋͗̐̀̈́̉́̽͘͝ͅp̴̖̦̤͎̰̲̙̰͚̂̇̌̉̿̊͂̆̐̊͐̕͘p̷̡̢͙̰̣̟̝̯̝͕͓͈̹̼̣̻̟̤̯̩͖̤̬̱̣̙̥͂͊̑̆̆͌̐͋͐̑̚͘͜͝ę̶̡̱̙̖̭̤̻̙͍̩̤̲̝͖̼̠̱̼̩͔̘̼͉̟̦̈́̽̍̾̽͑͐̋̍͑̚̚ͅn̶̦̪͔͂̌̂̑̉̆̌̿̋͐̇͂̾̈̅̀̉̂͝͝ȩ̴̨̛̛͎̥̭̯̝͎͔̺̙̩͇̈̎̒͛͂̇̃̐̓̍̊̄͊͗͛̔̍̄̕̕̕d̴̡̢̛̛̥̥̪̮̙̱̫̼̪̟̦̥̗̗̟̘̼̘̣͎̫͓̜̓̀̉̃͂͐̐̌̋̑̓̐͂̓̋̌̓̑͑̕͘͝͝ͅ ̴̣̤̜̠͙̘̽̒̎̔̐̊̓̈́͆̈́͌͗̅̔͘͘͠i̶̛͚̱̿̏̄̈́̓n̴͎̝͍̼͎̰͆̅̈́͐͜ ̸̢̛͈̲̙͙̳̤̝̘̘̘̺̻̼͈̘͋̾̄̅̂̔̽̑̈́͛̈͝͠c̸̨͔͓͍͖̪̤̿͒͛̇̈́̐̎͒̆̐̊̽̏̿̏̈́̇̀͒̔͊͒͒̊̀̚͝ͅę̶̛̻̰̠̯͉̻̩̠̈́͜͜ņ̸̧̢̯͓͔̖́̂͒͋̄̀͆̾̓͝t̶̳̦̳͂̔͛͘̚̕͝ŭ̵͖͚͇̦̀̃̽͂̍̓͛̆̑͂̍̿͊̊̄̈̈́͑̍̈́͘͠͠r̸̛̟̲̮̣̟̥͖̰̘̙̙͇̞̝̱̟̙͈̟̠͇̈́͑̋͂͋͋͆̉̔͐̈̕͜͠͝͝ͅi̷̧̨̢̛̗̠͚̝͔̜̜͆̉̈́͝ę̶̙̜̯͍͚͚̮̩͎̤́̂̿̔̈́͜͝͠s̵̡͚̭̮̯͕͈͇͖̹̤̦͚̀̾̎̊̆͛͗̈́̆̊̆̑̐͂̃͌̔̅͊̿͂̕͝.̴̧̡̛͔̘̪̟̲̫̗̭͇̰̟̪͈̞̩̫̣̭̫̲̲̩̞̪̣̎͂̓̆̿̐̐̆͒̅͆͑̐̚͜ͅ ̶̨̨͉̻̩̻̫̦͛̅͂͑͆̇̾̓͋͒̎̂̍̓͐̀͐̈̏̇͘̚͜͝͝Ǐ̴̡̱̭̘̟̦̩͖̩̂̈́̍̆͊̍͒͑̉̽̈̆̓́̾̉'̸̨̬͔̘̥̺̬̯̦̳͙̬̥̗̣̐͜ͅm̵̨̢̦̤͙͈͙͔̪͖̫͑͐̈́̂̊͑̋̓͗̓͝͝ ̷̱͛̀c̵̢̧̡̡̧̨͚̘̠̻̱̗̙̼͓̫̤͈̮̞̟̣̗͓̃̌͋ͅṷ̷̯̠̫̲̦͇̫̺̥̺̂̌͒͗̽̏̋͗̏̑̐͑͒͗̽̒̑̑̋͆̔̈́̕̚͜͝͝͝r̶̰̟̦̬̝̩͚̜̂̉̀̏̔̓̋̇͘͜i̴̧̭̺͚̱̰͔̪͕̖̦̳̞̝̿̓̃̒̄̿̃̓̔̇̿̃͆̚͘͝ǫ̶̢̭̺͙̭̗͈̞̰͊̐͗̑̒̈̃̋̎̕ư̷̢̨̡̨̺̟̼̥͔̖̮̩̪̻̮͒͂̏̀̄̇̒͛̋͆͒̀͆̉͗̀̈́̑̊̚̕͜͠͠͝s̴̢̨̨̛̖͍̹̟͇̬͖̎͆̋̑̑̌͒́̾̏̅̌̐͌ͅ ̷̢͉̼̰͇͕̞̫͉͎̝͓͉̩̣̣͌̓̇̔͑̈͠t̶̨̝̦͉͕̣̙̯͓͖͗̄̿̄͗͂̄͂̎̎̌͘͜ͅǒ̶̡̧̦̩͕̙̳͓̥̖̲̙͖̱̓̉̀̔̆̃̏̅͐͛͛̂ ̷̡̢̩̟͙̙̩̰̙͚̭͚̝̱̞̳̝͙̫̥̎͑̂̃̏̒̌̎͂̈́̒̾̈́́̅̏͘͜͝͝ṩ̷̢̡͉̬̺̮͔͕̭͚̩̖̗͈̈́͛͋̚̚ͅͅë̵̛̯̲̜̐́͐̃̎̋͒̄͆̄̊̔͊̏́̾̑̚̕͘̕͜ȩ̶̢̧̛̛̩̟͎̻̖̼͇̯̤̲̫̞̙̮̯̤͍͑̾̿͊́͆̅̾͑͗͆͂̽̂͘͘͘͜͠͝͠ ̸̢̡͙͎̥̗̞̺͈͚̘͎͕̟̲̫͎͔̠͉͍͉̈́̋̐ͅẃ̵̢̢̺̗͖̘̩̤͖̰̣̟̗͇͚̝̭̙̪̰͔̙̦̋͆̔̆̓͒̀̈̐̋̈́̅̈́̊̓̇́͘̚͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅḥ̵̨̛͈̖͈̠̙̳̮̯̥̀̐͑̓̄̾͐͋̄̑͂͋͋̄̈́̈́̓͆͘̚̕̚͜͜͝e̵̢̠̬͖̤̣̖͔͍͉̲̜̪̥͔̣͈̳̞̙̯̗̪̻̲͓͗̓͊͐̊̑͛̃̒̍͆̇͊̒͒̆̕̚̕͠͝ͅr̸̡̠̼̎̄̋͆̿̉̃̌̎̅̚e̴͔̠͚̰͕̝̟̯͈̬͚̥͒͆͒̄̋̾̆̓̇͋̔̈́͑̾͑̇͒̎͋̉̕͘͝ ̸̨̧̡̨̛̛̛̦͖͚̰̲͇̟̣̰̯͔̼̻͔̦̱̜̞̦̠̳̤̝̹͖͛̌͌̏̑̾̿͋̓͑̾͑̊̉̅͛̚̕͠͝t̸͉̗̘̯͕͎̪̜̗̣͖̅̐̏̇̀̅͊̀͑̒̏̏̀̃͐͐͒̾̈́̾̿͐͘̕̚͘͜͝h̵̢̨̧͓̖̬̹̙͉͓̗̦̜͕͎͎̹͕̻͊̏̔͗̊̂̋̍͗͐͒̏̈́̀̑͑͆͒̕ỉ̷̢̡̛̝̯̙̜̭̙̘̱͈̮͚̟͇̌͒͌̎̃͑̆̓͋͐̌̎͂̇͌͆̓̊͠s̸̢̤̫͖̺̯̦̤̻̘͖̟̐ ̶͕͖͖̯̫̙̗̮͊̇̒̏̅͋̓̈́̔̈́̔̌͐̇̉̈́̂̊͛͂͑l̴̢̯̟̲̤̖͎͈̙͇͔͊̑̓͗̔͊̇̅̅͌̄͛́̇͝͝e̶̡̡̧̛͉͚͉̹̱̲͉͙̦̖͓͌̓͗̈́̄͛a̵̢̢̧̨̛͇̘̞̭͇͈̰͚̤̓͂͛͗̓̓͒̄́͊̑̇͑͐̾͂̾̑̔̈́̄͘͘d̶̢͈̲̫͖̳͍͔̰̝̥̓̾̇͋̽̇́̑̉̑͋̾̕s̵͙͙͚̝̝͇̼͇̭͚̙̫̾́̏̃.̶̮͆͆͊̉̓̓͑͌̈́̈́̈́"̷̡̛̬̝̥̻͍͉͓̪͉̮͈̑̎̆̊͛̆̆͑̎̈̈́́̌͛͆͆̕̚̚͝

  
  
  
  


Logan gave one more look at the bookmark before releasing the spirit he could feel lingering in it. The spirit swirled along for a bit, the way all new spirits do, before slowly disappearing. Having found peace, it had moved on.

He wondered who on earth had bothered to send it.

They would have to be pretty bold after all.

**_Not just anyone would casually send a gift to death_ **.

\- - - - - -

Virgil was walking around in the town square when he came upon his next job.

A man who had half a scar for a face approached him, slipping a note into his pocket and making eye contact with him, before making his way into a nearby inn.

Virgil carefully opened the note.

“ _Meet me in room 212. I have a job for you, Mercy._ ”

Making a quick decision, he walked into the inn and asked for directions to the room.

“So, we meet again.” The scar-faced man said.

“Do we? Pray tell where have I seen you?”

The man chuckled, “Oh no, you wouldn’t recognize me. But I know you. I have a proposition to make.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Do tell.”

“I have seen your talents. I know what you can do. You have a connection to death beyond that of your profession. And for that I beg of you,” The man got down on one knee, not bothering to acknowledge the shocked look on Virgil’s face. “ _please_ , bring back someone I have lost.”

“...How do you know of my power?”

“I saw it by chance,” He admitted, “but I swear upon my life that I have told no one. All I wish from you is to take on my request.”

Virgil took another look at the man before him. He was kneeling before him, begging for his help. ‘This man is willing to risk everything to get someone back.’ he thought, ‘It is the least I can do to hear him out.’

“What’s in it for me if I take this job?”

The man smiled, relieved, “I knew you would ask that. That’s why I have prepared this in advance!”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a satchel, which he then dumped the contents onto the ground.

Out of it fell riches beyond Virgil’s wildest imagination. Jewels and chains, coins of gold and silver. With that much wealth he would never have to work a day in his life again. He could buy a palace. Maybe even a city.

“Are you saying that if I take your offer, all of this could be mine?”

“That is correct.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

The man smiled, “Thank you.”

Virgil eyed the riches still laying on the floor, nodding his head toward it.

“Oh yes of course.” The man said, slightly embarrassed, “Go ahead, take it. It’s yours.”

Virgil nodded and started to pick it up, “I’m going to need the names of the person I’m supposed to ‘save’ and yours.”

“Right right of course. I am Janus Saginus. And need you to rescue Patton Mortan.”

That night, Janus watched as Virgil wrote down a note, and folded it into a plane. He poked a small hole in one of his fingers and dotted the blood onto the tip of the plane, a spool of string attached to the end.

He turned toward Janus, “Pleasure doing business with you, I’ll be sure to get him back.”

“You too, Mercy.”

And with that, Janus watched as Virgil murmured his prayer and set off, following the string.

_“May your soul find peace._

**_May your travel stay true.”_ **

~

_Dear Death,_

_I am coming to make a deal._

_Sincerely,_

_-V_

~

It was a truly unforgettable day when Logan had received that message.

Ever since the first gift, more and more kept coming. Each one seemingly more intriguing than the last. They ranged anywhere from feathers on the ground, to leaves off of trees, to napkins, stray posters, nothing nearly as sentimental as the first one.

That is, until the letters started.

Logan had to admit that he did not know what they were at first.

It was just folded paper, what was so special about them? The first time he got one, he was on the verge of throwing it away when Roman (his second servant) walked in. He saw him about to throw it away and had thankfully stopped him.

As it turned out, there was a message written inside.

Logan sadly couldn’t read it though. Seeing as language was always changing in strange uncertain ways, and Logan as an immortal being having existed almost as long as time. He just couldn’t be bothered to keep up with it.

Until then.

So he and Roman called Remus over to translate the message. And slowly, over the years, they taught him language.

And over the years messages kept on coming, and he at least had some something to call the mysterious sender by;

_V_

It was odd, short. Not a name, not even long enough to be a proper nickname. But it had endeared itself to Logan, just as the sender had.

So when Logan had received that letter, he was a little excited. Finally, he would know who the V was. He alerted Roman and Remus to allow the one at the end of the string through.

**_And, roughly one hour after the plane had arrived, he had met V_ **.

\- - - - - -

Virgil hadn’t known what he was expecting but it somehow wasn’t this.

The string had led to the entrance of a cave, and once inside, had gone into a portal. So stealing himself, he stepped in.

And on the other side, was met with a tall, dark castle.

Walking up to the gates, he was faced with two guards. One with a red sash, another green.

The red one noticed him first, and looked about ready to attack, before the green one stopped him and excitedly pointed to the string in his hand. The red one immediately got a look of understanding on his face and let him through, both looking mildly excited.

Virgil was confused, but decided not to question it. He was in uncharted territory after all.

Walking in, he was met with a grand throne room.

And there, he met _him_.

Sitting on the throne, was a man. He wore a dark suit, with a deep blue tie. Dark ebony hair slicked back, with obsidian glasses framing his dark eyes that were deeper than the sea.

It was a surprise, to say the least.

**_‘I mean, who would have thought that Death would be so hot?’_ **

\- - - - - -

The mortal before him was nothing like Logan had expected.

He had purple tipped hair that seemed to hold an unearthly glow. His eyes holding the power of galaxies. He was dressed in a simple patchwork hoodie and trousers, his tiredness showing through all the way from his bones.

Logan hadn’t anticipated for _V_ to look so ragged and down. But _V_ had pursued a life practically intertwined with his. 

“S-so you’re Death?” _V_ asked.

"̴I̶n̵d̶e̷e̵d̸,̵ ̸t̸h̵a̷t̶ ̶i̷s̶ ̵w̵h̸a̴t̶ ̷I̴ ̷a̸m̵.̷ ̵H̷o̸w̶e̸v̸e̶r̷ ̵I̴ ̸p̴r̵e̸f̴e̵r̷ ̴t̸o̵ ̸g̷o̷ ̴b̴y̸ ̷t̸h̴e̶ ̷n̴a̸m̵e̵ ̸L̴o̵g̴a̶n̷.̵ ̵M̴a̴y̴ ̷I̴ ̷a̵s̴k̸ ̴w̵h̶o̵ ̷y̷o̷u̶ ̷a̵r̷e̵?̸"̵

“A-ah yes,” He cleared his throat, “My name is Virgil, known to some as _Mercy_ , and known to you as _V_. I have come to make a deal.”

"̵A̷h̷ ̸y̵e̷s̸ ̶o̴f̴ ̴c̷o̸u̵r̶s̵e̴.̷ ̶W̴h̷a̶t̷ ̵i̵s̴ ̵t̵h̵i̸s̶ ̴d̴e̵a̶l̷ ̸t̴h̴a̴t̵ ̶y̵o̷u̵ ̶h̶a̷v̸e̸ ̸m̴e̶n̵t̷i̵o̸n̵e̶d̵?̴"̴

“I have come to barter for the soul of one Patton Mortan.” Virgil declared, raising his head high.

Logan raised an eyebrow, "̵Y̸o̵u̷ ̷a̶r̶e̸ ̵a̸w̵a̶r̵e̴ ̶t̶h̷a̴t̶ ̸b̸r̶i̵n̸g̵i̵n̵g̷ ̶b̶a̷c̸k̸ ̶a̶ ̶s̴o̴u̶l̵ ̸c̷a̴n̸n̶o̴t̷ ̵p̴o̴s̴s̸i̵b̶l̵y̶ ̵b̷e̴ ̴d̴o̶n̵e̸ ̶f̴o̶r̴ ̴f̷r̶e̶e̵?̶ ̵W̴h̴a̵t̶ ̵a̵r̷e̷ ̸y̷o̴u̸ ̵w̷i̷l̶l̴i̴n̵g̷ ̸t̴o̶ ̸g̷i̷v̶e̸ ̶f̵o̶r̵ ̶t̸h̴i̸s̴ ̴d̵e̸a̷l̵ ̶t̷o̷ ̴g̶o̴ ̶t̶h̶r̴o̵u̸g̵h̸?̶"̴

Virgil faltered for a second, before making up his mind, “Anything.”

**_"̴H̶m̷m̷m̴.̵.̵.̷"̴ Logan smirked, "̵V̴e̶r̵y̶ ̴w̷e̸l̵l̴.̴ ̷I̵n̶ ̸e̸x̶c̵h̵a̴n̵g̵e̶ ̴f̶o̵r̸ ̸P̷a̸t̸t̷o̶n̴'̴s̶ ̴l̶i̷f̵e̷,̶ ̸y̵o̷u̸ ̸w̷i̵l̸l̵ ̷s̶t̴a̶y̶ ̴h̶e̴r̸e̶ ̸f̵o̶r̸ ̸o̸n̷e̶ ̴y̴e̸a̷r̵.̷ ̷A̵r̸e̶ ̵y̶o̷u̷ ̴w̵i̴l̷l̵i̸n̴g̷ ̸t̸o̴ ̷a̷c̶c̷e̸p̷t̷ ̷t̵h̶e̴s̴e̴ ̴t̸e̸r̴m̸s̵?̴_ **

\- - - - - -

Virgil froze for a moment. 

A whole year? Here? Would it really be worth it?

_‘Yes’_. The voice in his mind spoke, but he thought about it some more.

He had nothing to go back to. No family. No real connections. Janus and Patton though? They really could have something. It was only a year anyway, not like a lifetime. Dea- no, _Logan_ wasn’t even a total stranger. His mind was set.

**_“Ok.”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> That's it for know! I might come back to this later to add some snippet's of the year they stay together but for now there's this:
> 
> _Virgil will eventually end their year, having become friends with Roman and Remus, and grown closer with Logan. They will separate knowing that they cannot be together at the moment, but with hopes that they might when Virgil inevitably returns to Logan's realm._
> 
> Feel free to ask questions in the comments if you're confused!  
> Goodbye~


End file.
